A Heart in a Silver Cage
by mochiinvasions
Summary: It's hard when she looks as beautiful as she does and everyone but her looks back at you. [Summer camp!Humanstuck AU, based in part of off Daniela Andrade's cover of Flight Facilities' 'Crave You']
1. Prologue

Ask Kanaya when it had started and she wouldn't be able to give an answer –14, when all her friends had boyfriends and she waited for hers to come along; 15, when summer taught her that she would never want one; 16, when Rose had walked over to her table and talked to her in haughty tones for half an hour every day until they grew closer than two peas in a pod; 17, when she woke up from her first dream of the two together and realised she'd have to spend the whole year living with that; two days later, when she realised that she didn't want to live with the dream but with the reality; or the summer of her 18th year when Rose invited her to spend two weeks in the back-end of beyond learning the classical language of her choice.

If it had been anyone but Rose, she would have declined. Kanaya traditionally spent all summer working so as not to depend on her parents for money too much, and with university around the corner she hardly deemed it appropriate to spend all that money for something she's not even that interested in, but Rose turned on the pleading – will be all by myself; such a large journey alone; she'll help pay – and then Kanaya could hardly decline.

Well, she could, but she didn't. She didn't factor in how hard it would be to be in direct close proximity with Rose for two weeks (as if it wasn't hard already), she didn't factor in how difficult it would be (languages are not her thing – fabric is), she didn't factor in the cost too much (Rose's family is filthy rich, the worst kind in that she doesn't even notice it), she just accepts. She sends in all the forms, buys all the preparatory books, wonders briefly how this will ever help her and then decides to go for it anyway.  
It's Rose after all – she has never been able to deny Rose anything.

As if Rose would do the same for her.

It's not her fault, really it isn't. For all her other accomplishments, Rose is no mind-reader, and Kanaya is in control of herself enough to not go completely crazy around her. The two talk just as much online as face-to-face and if it's easier to play around more, easier to hide her truth in her games, well, who could blame her – if some part of her still dreams that one day Rose will read the signals and take the initiative right out of her hands, well, who could blame her. It's not like she dreams of Rose night in, night out, not as if she spends every day both afraid and excited for every minute in her presence – no really she isn't; the two make good, dignified friends and she controls herself around her just fine, no more nervous or overbearing than she should be.

It's just that she has a massive crush on the girl.

It's just that she'd do anything for her.

It's just that she has.

It's just that she's wasting time and money travelling across the country with the girl of her dreams to spend two weeks rooming with her and trying to learn a language she'd never read before while spending every night dreaming of being in the other bed.

She hides it well.


	2. Steps on an empty stage

Sunday

Originally, Kanaya had planned to meet Rose in-town and travel the whole way with her, but an emergency forces Rose to leave three days earlier to stay with her father in his house conveniently a third of the way there, so instead Kanaya kisses her family goodbye, promises that she'll call Sunday, won't waste the time and money and will have fun. The experience of riding the train alone without having to watch out for wayward siblings is novel and enjoyable and she wastes much of the journey watching the sun play over the fields and wondering what the area around the school they'll be staying is like and blinks back into awareness at the station she'll be switching trains and meeting Rose at with some surprise, unaware that the time had passed so quickly.

Rose waves at her from the platform as they pull in and greets her with a short, soft hug, thanking her for coming and regretting that she couldn't meet her in town. They have half an hour before their train arrives and they laugh over lunch in a small coffee shop where the sun shines in Kanaya's eyes and reflects in Rose's hair as they relax in friendship, easy and un-awkward, and Kanaya forgets and remembers each second why she loves Rose, from the curve of her smile to the turn of her tongue, her boundless intellect and her swift fingers, rising in the air to demonstrate some experience or another and flying from cup to phone to show Kanaya a picture of her father's new dog, eyes rolling at his childishness as her soft smile calls Kanaya home like a lighthouse, always there, always there.

The train arrives and the two pile on, sliding into a table seat to continue their conversation, eyes alight with joyful conversation, the tripping tongues of two best friends separated for too long for whom every minute is too long to delay some new item of news, some new gossip or confession. It's easy to forget her regrets when Rose is there and happy and she knows she shouldn't but she does anyway – _it's a good thing I came, she would have been so unhappy_ – and of course she knows she wouldn't be really – Rose is perfectly capable of functioning without her – but it hurts to think of her brilliance shining on someone else and she drinks up every minute of it as the tracks beneath her whisk her off to the back-end of nowhere.

Rose has researched the area – of course she has – and she reels off pointless facts to Kanaya as they wait for the coach, judges their new classmates as they look excitedly out the window and Kanaya knows it was worth it to come for this, for Rose's happiness and the way she looks like Kanaya just makes it all _better_ even as she knows that the two will not learn together, may not even room together, but they are there together anyway, so why not enjoy it? And if she's distant, Rose says nothing, and if her smile comes a little late, Rose does not comment – of course not, she never has, always willing to forgive Kanaya's oddities if she forgives her own and is a crush an oddity too big to be forgiven? But no, no thoughts like that, and she quells the idea as soon as it rises and smiles at Rose and takes the outstretched hand and follows her lead in who she talks to and hey – wouldn't you know it, she's making friends and finding connections – a book here, a musician there and one girl who's on her third go here and she's in, she's in, and the lady at the desk gives her a name and a number and she meets Rose to compare and yes – they're rooming together. Of course, the Lalondes have pulled some strings here or there and she meets Rose's smile with one of her own and asks her not to get them lost but it's easy to forget they're anywhere new when she follows Rose, trusting her to get them home and dry.

It's easy to remember they're somewhere new when they find their room already occupied by one of three – the girl is vapid and haughty, from some well-known boarding school somewhere and clearly judgemental of Rose's conservative neckline and Kanaya's own flowing summer dress – "it takes all sorts," she says, and leaves – and Rose wrinkles her nose and says "if clothing's all she cares about, we'll blow her out of the water, right Kan?" and begins to unpack, and Kanaya wonders about the peacefulness of the next two weeks.

Rose herself is all about Classical Greek but on her advice Kanaya went for Latin – one less alphabet to learn says Rose – and Rose spends the evening tutoring her, preparing her to get a head start the next morning until the first assembly then dinner, spent with some friends found in the line, and Kanaya wonders.

There's no denying that Rose is more popular than she will be here – she had a way of speaking that both invites you in and keeps you at a distance – and there's no denying that already eyes are turning their way – she knows they invite stares – and there's no denying that some small selfish part of her wants Rose's attention all for herself and yet-

And yet, she knows somehow that she will not emerge from the next two weeks the same. Something is going to change – for better or worse it always does – and she knows that her only chance is to pray for favourable winds.

She doesn't pray often – the presence of a higher figure is never one that convinced her – and yet, as she turns to her neighbour to compare lipstick brands and the effectiveness of repairing your own clothes, she spares a prayer.

No harm in it.

* * *

Monday

Kanaya is a morning person. Rose is not. Kanaya wakes at 7 AM for her 9 AM class, Rose wakes at 8:30 assuming Kanaya has brought food back for her (she has) and that she remembers where her first class is (she does). The two separate fifteen minutes later and regroup at lunch to compare classes and classmates – Rose's is easy for her skill level but she thinks it might get harder later so she won't ask about leaving, her class is full of stuffy boarding-schoolers and students who don't believe that her private educated self deserves to be there; Kanaya is completely bewildered and really needs to work hard to keep up, her class is generally people signed up by parents who don't really care about doing well so at least she's not at the bottom of the class – and do their homework under the sun, sharing pens and nuggets of wisdom.

At some point, some of those they ate with the previous night drift over to compare – between them they cover most of the classes offered, and they laugh out loud at Rose's impression of one of her classmates – and it seems that the minutes pass too soon till they have to separate and Kanaya reflects on her way to the classroom that she was happy to share, happy to be part of a larger group of friends that they shared rather than the intersection between the Venn circles of Rose's friends and Kanaya's – of course, they intersect elsewhere, but you'd never find such a group at their school and yet – she would not call them friends yet, but friend is the only word she has, and she thanks whatever higher being responsible that she was there to see the crinkles next to Rose's eyes as her impression sets laughter alight.

Class passes as normal – bewildering and far over her head – until a flurry of knocks announces the messages for the day: tonight's lecture, tomorrow's trip into town, auditions for the play, those who want to work on props and costumes head to the art department tomorrow at lunch. "Perfect for you, eh?" says one classmates afterwards, and another backs it up with "I did it last year, it's fun!" and a third says "I've already been recruited – come with me, I'll show you the way to the art department and you can choose then," and she's recruited, her name on the list, and her classmates' conversation carries her out onto the lawn where Rose awaits and she leaves them there. Rose is, of course, immediately the centre of her world again, and some part of her takes a second to think of how odd it is that she merely needs to be in her sightline to be her focus and her homing call, while most of her measures the brightness in her eyes.

All Rose can talk about is how much her classmates annoy her and how she spends most of her time already counting down the minutes until the breaks so she can find Kanaya again, and Kanaya barely has time to tell her about the play and how she won't be there for lunch tomorrow before one of their dinner friends – _Nazia_, she tells herself - descends upon them to bewail in dramatic tones the class between auditions and lunchtime seminar and departs to find some other friend to dump her dramatics on, leaving the two overwhelmed and Kanaya out of place.

She struggles, she thinks, sometimes, to find her place – between the cool intelligence of Rose and her kind and the critical intensity of her fashion-minded friends – and Rose has her friends and Kanaya has her own – that place where she belongs; that group of strangers thrown together by time and circumstance – but that place where she _fits? _No, she has not found that yet – she comes closest when by Rose's side, she thinks, but then everything feels at once more blurred and more intense when Rose is around, as if she sharpens all her senses and dominates them all the same, and she knows, _knows_, that it is wrong and inappropriate to feel this way about her _best friend_ but it's _hard_.

It's hard when Rose smiles behind her glass at some silly comment of hers.

It's hard when Rose sits forward and talks so animatedly about some passion of hers.

It's hard when Rose is _there_ and _beside _and so easily gathering the gaze of those around her, so unaware and yet so seemingly hyperaware, as if she knows everyone in the room and how they feel about her and yet as if she couldn't care – all in the intensity of her awareness focused on one or a few and she knows, _knows,_ how it feels to be at the centre of that and yet it was not enough, never enough, and yes she notices the way people look at her and her and them and the ideas that form in their minds she wonders sometimes how it would be if they were true. Would Rose turn that intensity elsewhere, leaving Kanaya to know that she would always dominate some part of her mind like Rose does for her? Or would it be worse/better, always at the centre of her gaze rather than sometimes, most of the time?

It's selfish.

It's all she can think about, watching Rose talk animatedly at dinner to some boy about some topic she knows nothing about, and counting the looks she catches.

"Sometimes I think I've made a mistake," Rose says. "Goodnight."

* * *

Tuesday

It's odd, Kanaya thinks, how quickly they settle into routine. Morning two of thirteen and already they are stuck in their own patterns, turning and revolving around each other like clockwork, separating for class then joining together again for breaks, lunch together then separation as one goes to the library and the other the art department, more classes, another break and the long gap before dinner where they catch up on each other's day.

It's odd, Kanaya thinks, how much they have to say to each other. They became friends swiftly through a joint sense of isolation and a series of shared interests and yet, every day, their conversation takes new turns, runs down new roads and branches off and off into topic after topic, entrapping those around them in their bubble of dialogue. Every day they wake up and do the same damn thing and yet, there are never awkward silences between the two – they work together like clockwork and when one does not feel like speaking the other understands, and they silence shared is soft, comfortable, the silence of one's room when they sit alone waiting for the other to come online or sit at their desk, the only noise the occasional murmur of happiness or confusion.

She knows they would do well together. They fit together like clockwork she thinks again, and sometimes she wonders about her fear. She couldn't say that she knew Rose's dating history off by heart and yet, she thinks, she has a general idea of how it goes: she knows Rose enjoys the attentions of both genders, she knows that she's open to relationships with both and she knows she has (at least a short) history with both.

In short, she's not worried about Rose's sexuality.

Perhaps, she wonders, it is fear? Fear that Rose values their friendship too highly to take the step into relationship, fear that Rose could never see her as more and thus it is more sensible just to stay as friends and wait for the crush to go away, fear that Rose could not even imagine the way she feels.

Perhaps, she is just a coward.

A wave of noise breaks on the shores of her consciousness and she turns to the left – there is some confusion amongst those working on props and the sky outside is darkening. The art director calls an end to the night and she spills out of the puddle of light with her companions, comparing techniques with one and fabrics with the other as she drifts out to the grass where Rose sits, talking to some classmates. The smile that breaks across her face seems almost as bright as the light illuminating them, and she introduces her with a smile, returning swiftly to their discussion on some obscure part of the text they are reading – something well beyond her comprehension and thus something that allows her to observe.

She watches the sky darken above their head, as the minutes tick on until the lecture starts. She watches the dust motes float in the light illuminating the group. She watches silhouettes in the other buildings. She watches packs of students pass in clumps, each enraptured in their own world. She watches the way Rose's eyes flicker from person to person, the way her smile quirks up in the corner when someone makes a point she agrees with, the way she sits forward to emphasis a point. She watches the way the boys look at her, appraising, like she is some new species in their collection, to be marvelled and wondered at and maybe, _maybe_, touched. She watches the way Rose's eyes light up at the conversation.

She feels the bubbles of jealousy rise in her chest and counts the minutes until they head back to the room.

* * *

Wednesday

Their roommate moves rooms. Having unpacked all her stuff, she now repacks it, wishes them well and leaves. They do not see her again.

The sky darkens and rain plays across the window. They both mourn that they will not be able to have their evening discussion.

The theme for the Saturday night party is announced. Discussion bubbles about costumes and the art director complains about people coming in and out for the rest of the week.

Kanaya does not sleep. She sees the day in snapshots. She drifts from place to place, absent.

Rose cannot meet her for lunch. She eats at her sewing machine.

The cast for the play is announced. The director and his counterpart stand at odds as to costumes – the numbers have changed.

The first few trickle in to get their first fitting.

Later on, a few more do.

Kanaya sees the day in snapshots.

She drinks three cups of coffee. They have replaced the caf with decaf. She blinks sleep from her eyes and picks up her pen.

Rose is not there again.

Classes end, eventually. She thinks about skipping the evening lecture.

The next group to be fitted walks in.

Rose is there.

It's cheesy and silly and ever so cliché, but it's like the world snaps back into focus. Rose smiles at her and, when waiting for her dress to be pinned together, apologises. Says that she was caught up all day working with a classmate all day. Kanaya does not care. She sees the world in HD video, focused exclusively on Rose. She hates her guts.

She keeps her touches as minimal as possible, measuring and weighing and deciding, sorting and placing and saying goodbye.

In the dark of her room, she will remember how it felt to have her so close, for her to be right there and soft and touchable, pliable and turning and moving as Rose directs. It's sweet.

For now, she feels the bubbles of guilt rise in her chest.

She moves on to the next person. She forgets their face as soon as they turn away.

Name taken, clothes on a hanger, label placed, face forgotten.

She goes and goes and goes.

She does not skip the lecture – she sits next to Rose in a darkened room and pretends that every nerve end is not on fire. Pretends that she does not unconsciously bend towards her like a tree towards the sun. Pretends that when Rose turns to her to mutter some comment in her ear, she does not feel each individual hair on her neck raise up. Pretends that they are nothing more than friends.

Pretends that she is not jealous as she walks behind Rose and some friend who has caught up with them.

Pretends that she is not guilty as her night-time imaginings say: same placement, different situation. You take off all her clothes. You kiss her neck. She laughs at you, accuses you of ulterior motives. You acquiesce. You walk with her back to your bed. Her skin is soft against yours. You feel her smile curved against your neck and her breath spiralling across your shoulder.

Pretends that is it the first – that it will not be the last.

Pretends that she is not acutely aware of Rose sleeping in the other bed.

But she sleeps this time.

* * *

Thursday

Thursday's skies are clear and blue, cerulean silk that stretches to infinity. There is a brightness inherent in Rose's frame and the curve of her smile and Kanaya cannot help but to be infected by it, a small light that she keeps inside her even as the day drags on, even as breakfast tastes of cardboard and she struggles through her classes, even as the same commitments drag them apart and lunchtime her art friends ask her to sit with them and she declines and makes her way to Rose's table where she feels like she is naught but an interruption.

It's difficult, she thinks as the paving stones pass, to love someone silently. It is difficult to love someone and not tell them and feel the weights of jealousy and guilt and jealousy again. It is difficult to love someone silently and to feel so enraged at the ease with which they interact with others and not feel stupid at her anger. At least she is blessed to be in her light.

And the changes that felt so near Sunday night have gone on holiday.

She conceives her party costume in five minutes and resolves to spend ten minutes at the end of the day putting it together.

Fabric falls between her fingertips and her trance is only broken by the ticking of the clock and the way Rose's heels sound against wooden floor as she comes in with "rehearsals ended early" and "I'm glad the party is after the play, it's good but it'll be nice to relax" and the ever present "god, I wish I knew how you do this".

She sits beside her, impossibly close, impossibly far. Kanaya wonders when her mind became clichéd love-notes. She doesn't care when Rose compliments the finished costume, and says that she should do this professionally.

It's hard, she thinks, as she packs away, to live a life in snapshots and focused around one single being. It cannot be healthy, she thinks, and maybe it's not even love, maybe it's infatuation. But then Rose grabs her hand before she falls and she thinks it's love. She thinks it's love all the way throughout the night, as Rose crowds in beside her in their seats, as she smiles at some mildly terrible joke, as she walks beside her on the way back and throws her head up to look at the stars, clutching Kanaya's arm as she nearly trips.

It's like being in a private bubble again, surrounded and engrossed by themselves and Kanaya finds that, even with days like clockwork, she has plenty to say and plenty to listen to.

Kanaya's classmates work no harder. Rose's classmates think no less of themselves. Languages do not get easier or less intricate and Rose does not leave Kanaya's heart.

The stars wheel on overhead and evening goes through night till rosy-fingered dawn brings in morning and guilt to guilty parties.

* * *

Friday

A half-way point of a kind and one day till crunch day, Rose says, and Kanaya brings her breakfast. The sky is clear. Their evenings are never free anymore.

Rose says that the great poets of old took inspiration from the wheeling of the sun and the stars and prayed to the gods for good fortune and fair winds. She says that she reads fragments of Sappho in her spare time and wonders who could have the fortune to have such a sweet tongue. She says that tragedies are more tragic when considered in their context and criticises historians for their lack of sources. She says that comedies are better when modernised and that the best production she saw was also the worst. She says that the more gossipy the historian, the less they are to be trusted. She says that student comedies are funny and theatre productions let down tragedies. Her words run in circles and lose Kanaya in their meaning and their syllables.

She emerges on the other side.

She walks to class with Rose at her side, bids her farewell and sets herself to understanding; she drinks coffee and Rose tries to catch her up; she struggles and struggles and does not understand; she argues with herself and eats fruit over her sewing machine; she watches Rose in the sunlight and tries to understand her words; she gets together with her art-friends and group creates their costumes; she tries on makeup in the yellow light of the bathroom and washes her hands with months-old soap; she talks love-poems on the grass and fits strangers in recycled fabric; she trims white with gold and thinks about reflections; she shelters from a summer shower and runs, hand in hand, from building to building.

The clocks tick on, the sun moves, and Kanaya loves.

It is old and a path well-worn and yet each second is new.

If Roses sees the delay in her movement, the absentness of her mind, the silence of her throat, she does not comment. She keeps her friends and classmates at a close distance. She stays close to Kanaya throughout and, when Kanaya returns from changing, she stares out of the window silently. The wind blows in breathes of air and Kanaya sits on the bed and watches her.

"I love you," she could say, or, "you know, it will be okay."

"You have friends."

"You do not have to fear the truth in your words."

"I treasure every second."

"You made me better."

"You saved me from isolation."

"You belong. Let me belong with you."

Instead, she turns over and brings the covers over her body. After a second, she hears the window close softly and the tell-tale creak as Rose joins on her side.

The third bed lies empty and newly made.

Sweet sleep, brother of death, covers men's eyes. He passes over Kanaya.

* * *

Kanaya's experiences are based roughly off my own, with a few changes. (Unintentionally, this same summer school is happening right now). The biggest is that, at my camp, only Greek was offered. However, the one I went to *this* summer offeres Greek and Latin and I didn't want to do Kan the injustice (even in fic) of learning Greek from scratch (*shivers*).  
Aside from that, the changes are small and cosmetic, aside from her experience in the art dept which is pretty much the same as mine.

If I had the time, I would have peppered this with Greek phrases but I only had room for two: one taken directly, one constructed myself. 'Rhododaktulos' is one of my favourite words in Greek.

Next chapter Sunday, if all goes well.


	3. The brave and the beautiful

Saturday

Kanaya rises with the sun on Saturday and spends the day finalising this and that – times for final fittings are sorted, her own costume for the evening is finished and she finally gets on top and above her classwork. It's hard to concentrate on gaps of half-hour sleep, but she perseveres, and when Rose wakes she makes no comment but waves goodbye as always, struggles through class and drifts from friend to friend, room to room, thought to thought.

There are no classes in the afternoon, and post-lunch her time is spent desperately fixing a prop here, fitting a dress there and running from theatre to art department bringing news and complaints this way and that. The play is a performance of the Frogs, shortened and adapted somewhat to their situation and it seems promising, as Kanaya inventories props and hands out costume to costume. It's no different to her everyday experience, a safety pin here, a line of stitching there, and on her off-time Rose comes in to cheer her on and expose her own fears.

Seconds turn into minutes which slowly become hours and the actors leave, the props are behind stage, the sewing machines are packed away, and all that remains is to wish Rose good luck and run back to the dorm to prepare their costumes (Rose will need to change immediately, Kanaya herself dons the simpler stuff before taking her seat in the theatre). Energetic talk spreads from person to person, Kanaya's name is on the program as costume and prop maker, and Kanaya's classmates whisper their excitement to see her creations.

The play is brilliant. Of course it is. How could it be anything but?

Nothing breaks. No-one forgets their lines.

Everyone laughs. Everyone leaves with a smile on their face.

Kanaya rushes over to Rose afterwards, hugging and congratulating her, smiling at the smile on her face and drinking in the feeling of happiness emanating from her and everyone around her.

The night is young, the evening is falling and Rose looks beautiful in her halo.

The theme for the party is "bad classics films" and Kanaya dresses as some nondescript heroine dripping in gold and soft fabric, Rose as her hero in gleaming plastic armour and a wooden sword. They trip down the stairs, hand in hand, laughing and smiling and flying, drifting from friend to friend. A hug here, a smile there and Kanaya feels she is floating on the feeling of light happiness, a job well done, the relief of half-way and nearly-there.

She feels alive. She feels brave. She feels beautiful.

She feels heads turn, she feels tongues wag, she feels the breeze as it riffles through her dress and hair.

She feels like she could glide over to Rose and kiss her then and there, say 'I love you, and if you don't want it, tell me and I will gladly be your friend, but I needed to tell you'.

She feels better than she has in weeks.

She feels the world stop as she sees Rose. She feels her stomach turn in circles, her heart does flips, her breath quickens.

She has never loved someone more.

She has never hated someone more.

There is someone else. Someone she knows vaguely, a face seen in the corner of her eye.

Rose is on his arm. Rose is smiling at him. Rose is talking to him.

And it's _wrong. _It's _wrong_ that she should feel this jealous, that she should feel this awful that Rose has other friends, other people she talks to.

And it's _wrong_ that she should feel the whole evening fall apart around her as she watches Rose turn her back on her completely, dropping neither gaze nor word her way.

Someone taps her elbow, someone shouts in her ear, someone presses a drink into her hands.

She does not see who. She does not care.

Someone grabs her arm, someone smiles briefly, someone asks her to join them.

She does not see who. She does not care.

Someone watches her leave, someone questions why, someone feels worried.

She does not see who. She does not care.

Her tunnel vision wheels away as the world turns under her feet and she thinks she's going to the steps that will lead to her dorm until her focus returns as she sits under the great windows and listens to the sounds of the party around her. Her cup tilts in her hands and she watches its contents feed the grass and thinks about Rose on her arm. She knows she should get up, go to bed, sleep the drink away, but the effort just seems so large.

Everything seems out of proportion – the party, her crush, the overwhelming guilt.

Far be it from her to keep Rose from what she wants, no indeed she only wants her happy, but she also wants her and she wants to make her happy and she wants to wake up next to her, not half a room and a million miles away.

"You have it bad," someone says.

Nazia. Her face swims into view, followed by the rest of her, as she drops down next to Kanaya.

"You have it bad, and I know that, because I know how it feels. It feels like the entire world to you, like your very existence depends on them favouring you with attention, and when you see them with someone else it feels like the world will end. I could tell you that it will be okay, that it will eventually fade and that at some point, when you see them it will be like seeing anyone else. But I know that's not what you want, so I'm offering you help from a friend. I believe it's called an intervention. I find some subtle way of letting her know you're interested in her, engineer a situation in which you two are alone, force you to tell each other and back away to let the magic happen. Or you moon over her for months and feel your heart stop in your chest every time she touches someone else."

It's simple. It's a solution. It's cheating.

She shakes her head.

"Fine," says Nazia, rising again. She looks down at her. "You look gorgeous by the way. Get to bed."

She holds her hand out, steadies her as she feels, sees her to the stairs.

"He has a girlfriend, by the way," she says as she leaves.

"I love her," Kanaya says to the mirror. The mirror does not speak back.

Sunday

When Kanaya wakes, the only thing she can see of Rose is the mop of blonde hair emerging from between her pillow and her covers. She puts a bottle of water and a box of Neurofen on her desk, takes a book, and leaves.

She reads on the grass until breakfast starts. She brings food back for Rose, takes her books and heads to the library.

She nibbles during lunch, skitters out of the room when she sees Rose enter, returns to her own room when she knows Rose has gone out.

She Skypes her family and pretends she is fine, she messages friends and pretends she is happy, she watches clouds go by and pretends that is does not feel the weight of sadness and guilt pressing on her shoulders like the sky itself, Atlas Telemon reborn.

She cannot avoid Rose forever, and the girl comes upon her mid-pretending, and speaks no word of anger or avoidance but simply lies on her bed and complains on the after-effects of drinking and thanks whoever responsible that they have a day off that day. She drops gossip here and story there and chides Kanaya for not having any of her own, and only finally does she question her reticence.

"I'm not feeling that good either."

Rose sits up, worry wrinkles across her face and she asks if she needs anything while Kanaya explains herself away.

Finally, Rose accepts that she needs neither aid nor painkillers, and retires to take a nap while Kanaya studies.

The silence in the room is neither natural nor forced – awkward, to be sure, but not uncomfortably so.

Until Rose rolls over and stares up at the ceiling for a bit until she finally turns to watch Kanaya, unblinking. Finally, Kanaya gives up and returns her stare with a question.

Rose is pale, her hair dishevelled, her eyes red-rimmed. If she did not know Rose so well, she'd say she'd been crying.

Rose does not cry. Rose drinks. Rose, post-drinking, does not cry. She sleeps.

She watches Kanaya sleepily. Her eyes drift from Kanaya's face down her body. A flush drifts across Kanaya's cheeks as she realises the drift of Rose's eyes, but she does not speak.

Finally, Rose says, "you looked beautiful last night."

It is enough. It is more than enough. It is too much.

Kanaya wants to kiss her and push her down on the bed and take all her clothes off.

She wants to write love-notes on her skin and whisper poetry against her neck.

Instead, she leaves.

She takes the stairs two at a time. She feels the weight of her anger carry her across the building, across the grass, to the steps where Nazia sits with her friends.

Her friends who disperse like scattered birds when she approaches, Nazia who catches her arm and sits her down and asks what's wrong.

She tells her _everything,_ and when she's done she asks the questions she has asked herself for days, weeks, months, perhaps years.

"I don't know how to tell her. And I don't know why I don't just say it. And I want her to know and I want her and I don't want anyone else to want her but me nor me but her and I don't. Know. How.

And sometimes it almost seems better to give up."

* * *

Let me tell you friends, this kind of jealousy is the worst.  
Short and sweet this time, next chapter Friday.  
*party completely fabricated, I hid in my room for both of ours


	4. Before I lose face

Monday

If someone were to ask what, by any definition of the term, Kanaya's greatest regret would be, she would say it would be the way Rose had looked at her when she finally returned Sunday night.

It was not a look of anger or frustration, simply confusion and worry. She had asked Kanaya about her anger, had sat next to her on the bed and made her look in her eyes and had asked if there was something she wasn't telling her, something important she needed to know. Kanaya had brushed her off, had said that it was silly and an over-reaction on her part, that she needed the evening to get her thoughts in order and that she was done with her tantrum now.

Rose had no accepted it, but she had realised that it was all she was getting, had hugged her and told her that if she needed her, she would be there, and gone over to her bed to fall asleep immediately, while Kanaya spent the night turning things over in her mind before finally dropping into (thankfully) dreamless sleep.

The facts, as she saw them, lay clear: she had liked Rose for as long as she had known her and had loved her for over a year. She was terrified of telling her, whether because she did not want to ruin their friendship or because she did not want Rose to feel obligated to her, she did not know. Like any crush, being Rose's best friend had its benefits and detriments – as a rule, she spent a lot of time with Rose and was able to be in her presence, even if it was not the way she wanted; on the other hand, when she over-reacted to Rose's closeness to others, it did not go unnoticed and created awkwardness and worry. Finally, she could not stand it.

One way or another, something had to change. Something had to break.

That something is, of course, morning Kanaya's resolve.

The fact of the matter is that Kanaya's friendship with Rose now is more important to her than the potential for a relationship.

The other fact of the matter is that Kanaya has more pressing problems than Rose at the moment.

Class is _hard._

She had thought that with a class of slackers who didn't even want to be there, she would at least be able to keep her head above the water as interest and a dedication to work found her rarely falling behind.

And yet it doesn't make _sense._ The words dance about in front of her eyes, declensions and conjugations bleed together in her mind, vocab runs away in rivers and rivulets and "I don't know" becomes her phrase of the day.

She does not _belong_. She does not _understand_. And she cannot stop thinking about the way Rose looked at her.

Lunchtime finds her unable to eat, afternoon break finds her unable to concentrate on her books, the lecture finds her restless.

The art department puts its volunteers on temporary leave as they recover and prepare for Friday's play and Kanaya finds herself at a loss.

Rose gives her time and space and Kanaya finds herself alone.

Her friends have other friends. She tries to study. Each yawn drives the learning from her brain.

She watches the clouds fade into stars, hears classmates return from wherever they have been to their own dorms, smells rain in the distance and thinks.

She dances on the brink of giving up. She hovers around the thought, abandons it, and returns.

_Give up,_ the thought says.

_You don't understand. There's no point in you being here._

It's not easy, but it's doable.

It's not even her money she's wasting.

It's not even her money.

Rose returns, forgets herself for a minute, smiles, excuses herself to get ready for bed.

Kanaya looks away from the window, packs up her books, changes quickly.

Rose's purse lies on her bed, a sack of vending machine change.

It's Rose's purse that paid for her to be her. It's Rose who begged her to come.

It's Rose for whom, ultimately, she would give anything up.

It's Rose's animated eyes as time and space make way for passionate discussion that pops the thought like just another bubble.

She will stay, she will study, she will understand, for Rose.

And the crush, the love, the pain? She'll deal with that tomorrow.

Tuesday

Tuesday comes with the solution.

Kanaya wakes up with the words written inside her lips and spends morning distracted, writing them in her brain.

They are simple and swift, a putting off of the main event tied in with some forgiveness and a better understanding. They solve no problem except the one that stands closest, answer no questions except the ones on jet-black lips. They will not tell Kanaya whether she should confess her greatest secret, nor the method by which she should go about it, and they will not tell Rose the real reason for her silence and her secrecy, and they will not solve her anger or her confusion except for now.

They are simple. They are swift.

The truest words, if she could say them, would be simply "I love you. And I understand if you don't want that. And I am at your mercy."

She picks the next best.

Over lunch, she pulls Rose over to the side and says, "After lunch, will you meet me outside? I have something I need to say." Lashing rain and beaten clouds guarantee their seclusion, and Rose eats quickly and looks at her inquisitively, artistically arranged against a building while Kanaya pulls the words out of her throat.

I have felt lonely and like I don't belong, and it is only with you that I feel secure

I know it's silly to depend on another person so much, but there we are

Between that, classes and the drama in the art department I was stressed out and anxious Saturday

I was okay at first, and then I realised we had separated and other people kept coming over and I was looking for you

You looked so happy on someone else's arm, I felt guilty and decided to leave

I didn't feel well so I stayed outside for some fresh air and Nazia came over to try and talk some sense into me

I was rude to her and I felt guilty and sick and Sunday made me feel worse and I felt silly because of you so I avoided you all day

I felt silly because I had assumed that you were tired of me and that's why you left me

Silly, I know.

I was angry when you said I looked pretty because I was angry at myself for being silly

It all compounded and I had to leave. I made up with Nazia who _did _talk some sense into me

I was embarrassed so I didn't tell you and then you avoided me all day because you thought it's what I wanted

And I hate that, because it's the opposite of what I want.

So if you'll have me, silly and over-reactive, I'm here.

And I'm not angry anymore.

It's simple, it's swift, it's a solution.

Rose looks at her like she's crazy. Rose smiles. Rose forgives.

And it all falls into place. In her brain all problems solve themselves suddenly until one remains. The final problem. How. To. Tell.

For there is no doubt in her mind that, eventually, she will tell. She cannot keep her secret forever – it consumes her, turns her into someone she hates, turns her in circles till she's on the outside looking in and wondering just where she went wrong. The words are so simple she feels them in her chest, climbing up her throat to dance on her teeth and tongue, itching to pry her lips open and taste the air in full, final fashion, and yet she clams them up, says _not yet,_ _it's not yet time_.

And yet it feels like seconds before they fall back into their old routine. Rose takes her hand and leads her back to their room where they sit opposite each other on the bed and she takes time from her own studies to explain each of Kanaya's problems until she understand. Rose eats dinner opposite her and tells her all about the discussion that bubbled up in her class, and Kanaya, intrigued, responds in part, wrapped up in their own world. Rose crams in beside her in the lecture theatre, scribbling notes on her pad and waving to the stars as her eyes light up with interest. Rose closes the window and shuts the curtains and says goodnight and drops off and Kanaya follows not a minute later.

Rose, Nazia texts, still believes she's done something wrong.

Rose, Nazia texts, remains yet worried and confused.

Rose, Nazia texts, deserves to know the truth.

Wednesday

Wednesday brings them back into the clockwork movements they inhabited before – coming together and separating and coming together again. Rose is there in the morning and there at lunch and there in the evening and there at night, both impossibly close and impossibly far. She stands beside her, a beacon of light that reminds her who she is, the secrets she chooses to keep, and she stands away from her, one move more than she can make, one touch less.

The theme for Friday's party is announced: film noir, and Kanaya's face spreads into a wicked grin, happy in the knowledge that she and Rose will own this. She meets Rose with a similar smile on her face, leaning together conspiratorially and planning their plans. Nazia comes to join them with a meaningful look at Kanaya met by a shake of the head, and the three share gossip, plans and stories – Nazia's classmate's boyfriend was asked to leave after he pulled the fire alarm in their building Tuesday night; Rose's classmates received a wake-up call when they changed text and those who hadn't studied were at a complete loss while she was fine; two of Kanaya's classmates want to leave.

The rush for Friday costumes begins, and the art department is filled with a steady flow of actors waiting to be fitted. It is second nature for Kanaya and she is efficient and swift in her processing of them: costumes labelled and hung up, sorted into "needs work" and "done", the important ones are reworked and tidied up, and Kanaya leaves in the evening with a sense of satisfaction and peace with the world. She is engaged in conversation with Elise, a fellow prop-worker, and they stand for many minutes finishing their conversation while Rose looks at odds. Eventually Elise's friends show, and she sees her off with a tiny sigh of relief, and peppers the air with apologies while they take their seats.

Rose is forgiving but still frosty, and Kanaya wonders how many invisible lines she can cross.

The talk of fire alarms earlier break their peaceful spell, and 2AM calls the twain from their beds to walk through hallways of riotous noise, down metal stairs with a clink on every other step, past cold concrete corridors with shut up coffee shops and across crisp grass to stand shivering in the shadows, watching with hazy eyes as names are called.

It's an unwelcome distraction from the shows that haunt her nights – no longer sleepless, Kanaya is instead haunted by the visions of what could be if she were braver, and the harsh contrast with the way Rose turns her back on her makes the comparison seem all too vivid – until Rose turns back around and leans into her side, whispering 'wake me up when it's over' and, later, 'I was having such a good dream.'

Kanaya goes to sleep wondering what Rose dreams of. Is it, she wonders, a future world where she is a respected author, her opinion sought on most every topic? Or, perhaps, a distant past where she plays the role of the best known woman in town, fabled for her risqué conversations and her liberal opinions? Surely such a one does not have commonplace dreams, she thinks. Surely such a one does not dream of someone else's arms.

Said arms curve in hers in her dreams and drape across the wide expanse of skin that leads from side to side and bring her head down for another kiss.

Thursday

The dream she wakes up from seems a continuation from the one she dropped off to: in it, they are a happy pair, and they walk down the seafront hand in hand and watch the gulls fly above. They curl up together in dark cinemas and Rose rests her head on Kanaya's shoulder, hands in lap. They discuss politics over breakfast and fashion over dinner, live lives separate but together, whirling like clockwork around each other, but come night they stick together like glue, bent and curved around each other as if they grew that way.

She dreams of sticky skin, of the cool breeze on her back and Rose's lips on her neck, her voice in her ear, her skin a wide expanse of ivory to be explored and mapped. She dreams of the sounds Rose would make as she flies down, down, to meet her below and the way her kisses would taste when both are satisfied. She dreams of the way Rose would feel as the two wake together, sheets twisted and bodies curved together.

She wakes, to find guilt and sorrow her only companions.

Nazia says that Rose deserves to know the truth, Kanaya reflects as she watches light steal across the lawn, and if Kanaya is honest with herself, she is not sure she can stand it anymore. She had known it would be difficult, to be this close to Rose for so long and yet be unable to speak her secrets, to wake up opposite rather than next to her, to know that this life of revolving around each other could be just a preview of a future that could never happen. And yet, never had she foreseen it being _this_ difficult, just to wake up in the same room as her with that stain of her guilt and her longing painted across her.

Rose is perfect, she thinks, from this far away, and all she wants to do is to find her imperfections.

Whatever deity she prayed to on her first night has surely done their work – she is caught between the rock of her desire and the hard place of her fear, unable to find the courage to speak her secrets, yet unable to face more time at the mercy of her secret longing.

And yet, she thinks, there is an opportunity. It is, she thinks, hardly the best place to do it and yet, she thinks, there is no place better.

She will be brave, she will be beautiful, she will not be cowed. She will not let jealousy take hold of her, nor fear: she will ask, as simply as she can, and she will not stake her whole life on the answer. No, she will stake her heart and her happiness, but she will recover – she knows she can – and if she ends the night heartbroken, well, it will not be the last, and if not…she thinks perhaps her secret shame will no longer be secret.

She thinks it strange, that the world should be so normal after such a change could be made in her. Her housemates treat her as usual, morning greetings and her usual seat; Rose behaves the same as always, eating breakfast quickly and complaining all the way into her classroom; she struggles, but not unduly, and counts the minutes till class finishes. The art department is busier, both with actors and ordinary students, and yet again she works swiftly and efficiently till all the fittings are done; discussions and conversations bubble up around her amongst classmates, friends and, she supposes, co-workers; Rose is animated and beautiful as ever, close and distant as ever, her best friend and all she wants in this world.

The decision gnaws at the inside of her brain and haunts all her thoughts, and she spends her free time working on her wording, assessing each move and planning each moment, finding the opportune moment and binding herself to her bravery.

She knows the words inside out and backwards, she knows each movement and the way either scenario will play out, she thinks of each way her plan could be derailed and plans eventualities for each: she is neurotic, and she knows Nazia would tell her to chill and let it come as it would but she knows that she will need the preparation, the fortification, the bravery in her bones.

She prays that sleep will take her. He caresses her cheek, closes her eyelids, kisses her forehead and leaves.

She wakes to hear the soft noises come from Rose's throat. She closes her eyes to pretend she hears nothing.

Friday

With Friday's dawn comes the realisation that it is their last day of classes. This realisation comes both welcome and yet sad – she will be glad to go home, glad to see her family again, glad to enjoy the last vestiges of summer before autumn comes with burnt leaves and yet-

And yet, she will miss it. She will miss the odd sense of isolation, the knowledge that everyone here is equally weird in their own way, the creak on the last stair into the art department. She will miss the pervasive smell of art and glue and the quiet rustle of books in the library. She will miss how it feels to watch the world wake up around her in the morning, how it feels to be greeted each morning by her breakfast crew, how it feels to rush from room to class and back again. She will miss the way that Rose looks when they see each other across the field (for the two will surely go their separate ways next year, even if they will stay in the same city), the greeting as familiar to her ears as her own family's, the way Rose's hands would slip into hers late at night or when she was too tired to stand.

She will miss her new friends from her class and her sewing machine, she will miss Nazia's quick wit and quicker mind, and she will miss the way the gardens open in front of you when you stand in front of the great windows and sniff the air for the remains of the drink you poured into the grass.

For once, she lies in until the kitchens open rather than sitting at her desk preparing. An intermittent morning waker, she watches the dawn creep up on the horizon and the light spill across the floor from the bottom of the curtain, waits as the second hand beats out the minutes on the clock, and listens to the sounds of a school waking up.

She dresses slowly, mindful of each action, each movement. She drifts as if in a dream, stumbling against the doorway and blinking sleep from her eyes in the crisp breeze. Her coffee is too hot and her bread too cold, and the crackers she brings back for Rose seem to crumble in her hands. Rose is soft and pliable in the morning, and she eats in bed for once, sliding out of the covers slowly and stretching as if she has not moved for years.

And then time seems to speed up, till Kanaya finds herself opening the door to her classroom with no real memory of even walking there.

She sits down next to Rose and drops her books on the floor, lies out on the grass and wonders out loud how, even on the last day, classes could be so stressful.

She eats on the go with Rose at her side and watches her find her classmates before Kanaya prepares for the last day rush.

Actors and directors pass by in a rush, props glossed and glued together, safety pins applied liberally and lost parts found and replaced.

Class comes, goodbyes are said and thank you's given, and class goes, with Rose bringing her dinner and acting as their runner.

The final costumes are on, the last safety pins in place, a bit of tape where no-one will see it and the art department, her home away from home, is closed and locked.

Their costumes will look best when complete and neither really wants to start now so they sit in the falling dusk with some friends and converse in low voices about the turning of the days. Some look forward to the play, others to the party, and yet others to simply being at home and Kanaya finds her own voice trips from her voice to join in with the others, a slow-moving, melodic turning of noise.

The air seems close and cottony, and Kanaya counts her heartbeats and the minutes wind down, and then they make their way over to the amphitheatre and file in, slowly, paper in hand.

A tragedy they say, and a tragedy it is – betrayal here, death there, and the slow-spoken soliloquy as the "hero" realises his great sin, his great error, his great woe.

Afterwards, Kanaya cannot recall a word. She spends the whole time rehearsing the conversation in her head, feeling her stomach turn flips and her breathing quicken when she looks at Rose.

She has had enough of dreams and pretence, enough of lying and hiding, enough of loving Rose from afar and keeping quiet for no reason other than plain cowardice.

Rose has her heart locked in a silver cage; Rose has her firmly curled around her little finger; Rose, ever ignorant and unknowing, ties her head in knots and her stomach in circles and it is time that she lets loose the birds inside her heart.

* * *

Fire alarms. We were plagued by 'em.  
Also, you may think that it's not possible for Kanaya to feel so many emotions in one week. As one who was there, I can assure you that you can (or, well, I could but w/e, I'm sure there were some people who were happy all the time).  
Anyway, I know I left it on a massive cliffhanger, but worry not readers, for the next chapter is coming...tonight?


	5. Under a trillion stars

Friday

There is a great rush of students once the play ends – some to find the start of the party, others to dorms to finish getting ready, and some to god-knows-where. Rose clasps Kanaya's hands and they wind their way through the energetic crowd, filled with the joy of the end of a hard two weeks and a job well done. They come tripping up the stairs and rushing into the room, doors shut and dresses out, stripping quickly and zipping each other up. The two are dressed in matching black dresses, purchased once for some event or another, the only differences their hair (natural), nails (done before) and makeup – Kanaya goes for trademark jade, with metallic eyeliner and a light dusting of green eye-shadow, and Rose wear her well-worn jet, matched by sharp wings of eyeliner and a fading scale of black to grey eye-shadow. Sashes and lined heels of violet and jade, long necklaces with a single gem to offset plunging necklines, and they are ready in record time, through the door and down the stairs and across the grass, joining Nazia and her friends and everyone else as black night draws across the sky.

Rose seems a flawless gem; polished to perfection and glittering in the lights, her smile a million watts and her touch the spark that sets fire to Kanaya's skin, draws a smile onto her face and dusts a blush across her own darkened skin, and she hides her head in the shadows until Rose pulls her into the light. The two stick together like glue, flitting from person to person, laughter and light their only companions. The world seems to revolve around them until they seem to be at an epicentre of lights and people, music and warm bodies, and all her worries and insecurities seeming to float away until her perception shrinks down to the way Rose's skin feels against her own. All her hopes and prayers and dreams and wishes mean nothing and everything, and if she is to change her life she wishes tonight to be the night – she is beautiful and she will be braver than ever before. She feels people at her sides and she hears them talk to her and she knows she talks back and yet the words fly through her brain like so much air, made nothing by the thought of Rose.

The wave of people brings them on and forward and beyond, until they are somewhere who-knows-where, somewhere she has not found in all their explorings and yet, she feels safe, anchored by Rose's hand in hers. Somewhere, talking turns to dancing and drink after drink, and someone winds fairy lights around themselves and twirls past their eyesight, bulbs burnt into their eyelids long after they pass. People are all around her and Rose is in front of her and she feels she could kiss her here and now but no, no, and the night just _goes_. She does not count the time, does not feel the air change nor does she feel the deep-set tiredness that pervades her bones each night, no, for this night only her bones feel like nothing more than matchsticks and her skin is the fire that catches light and her eyes the fire that blazes and drink after dance after burning light sends them reeling from the main group and lying back on the grass, Rose lying on Kanaya's chest and pointing out all the stars. She could fall asleep there, on the cool grass with Rose's light weight pressed against her, and yet she knows she must not, knows that she must get up and bring Rose with her and take her back to their room and _talk_ to her, yes, there were words to be said and secrets to be spoken and she rolls Rose over onto the grass and sits herself up and somehow, somehow talks her into coming back.

It is her who leads this time, her who takes Rose's hand and pulls her across the grass, dodging the occasional student making their way to and from the party until they are standing in front of the great windows, light spilling out across the grass and illuminating every part of Rose's face, the breeze catching in her dress and in her sash and the words spill out unbidden: "I love you, and that has made these last two weeks so hard and if you don't want it that it's okay but-" and she cannot speak, cannot vocalise the thought because-

Because Rose's hands are on her waist, seeming to burn through her dress to her skin and Rose's breath swirls across her lips before she _kisses_ her, and it is all Kanaya has wanted.

Her own hands drop down to clasp Rose and pull her closer, leaning down a little so that Rose does not have to reach up to her, closing her eyes and taking in the moment, unable to process it and yet safe in the knowledge that _it is all right._

Rose lets go, leans back, laughs in relief, smile playing across her face and breathy "_how long" _and "oh I've _waited_ for this", leans forward to kiss her again, reaches up to angle Kanaya's head down, leans in and into her waiting arms, tangles her fingers in her hair and Kanaya has never kissed someone who was smiling before but somehow it tastes even sweeter.

They separate and Rose's eyes are shining and the smile on her face turns from relieved to wicked in half a breath and she leans against Kanaya's shoulder, lips skimming skin as she whispers in her ear, grins at the blush that plays back across her skin and laughs out loud, relief and happiness and longing mixed in one across her face and in her voice, and she knows not who leads and who follows, knows only that she loves Rose and Rose loves her back and there is naught else she could wish for.

They make it to the stone stairs that lead to the entrance to their dorm, and Kanaya pulls Rose back and pushes her against the wall and leans down to kiss her again and again, Rose's hands warm against her waist and back, her own holding Rose tight against her, skimming jade lips across her face and down her neck till Rose pushes her off and smiling tells her to wait, be patient, let what's coming come, and Kanaya laughs at that and it just _goes_ until Rose closes the door to their room and the two look at each other expectantly.

Kanaya is not a mind reader and still Rose's face is hard to read and she hesitates, not knowing how far Rose wishes to go and whether or not she wants to wait until things are more private and she stays her hands and looks down, and in the end it is Rose who takes the first step, reaching across to pull her close, to place Kanaya's hands at the knot of her sash and wait as she unties it, watching as Rose twirls out of the fabric and throws it on her bed then does the same for her – somehow, she cannot speak to break the spell – and Rose unzips her dress slowly, easing her out of it and reciprocating in turn till the two stand across from each other in underclothes only, and Kanaya burns to see ivory skin unhidden and she can see the way Rose's eyes track down her body, sudden self-consciousness removed when Rose steps closer to her until she can feel her breath on her skin and the full intensity of her gaze, and Rose says in a shaky voice "I want it all" and it just _goes_.

They come together suddenly, in time as if practiced and Kanaya turns and pulls her, sits down on one of their chairs and pulls her into her lap, reaches up to kiss her, wraps her arms around her waist and loves all of her, from the breaths that puff across her lips to the way her arms crook around her neck and the soft arch in her voice as Kanaya unhooks her bra. She breaks away to let Rose catch her breath, moves her own lips down across her neck and hears every catch in Rose's breathe, catalogues each change and each noise of pleasure, rocks her back to kiss down the swell of her breast and take her nipple in tongue, sucking it and applying just the slightest pressure before skipping to the other one as Rose throws her head back and sighs, moving one hand down to unhook Kanaya's bra and throwing it to the side, and sighing at the way the two feel against each other.

Rose seems happy but she knows she could make her happier, and she clamps one arm around her waist and moves the other hand down, skimming down her stomach to dally at the rim of her underwear before foregoing it and choosing to apply pressure instead, pressing wicked kisses against the swell of her breasts and her sternum as she changes pressure and angles her hand until Rose is sweaty and breathless, voice catching in sighs and hums as wetness seeps through onto Kanaya's hands and she makes to lift her up to slide the underwear off, but Rose catches her arm, stops her, and through broken breaths says "no, no," and then "no I mean yes, I want more, but not here, on a bed" in response to the look that breaks across Kanaya's face.

"Can you walk?" she replies with a laugh and

"Of course!"

But of course she can't, and Kanaya is glad of her smaller frame when she lifts her up and brings her over to the closest bed – it would be Kanaya's – and sits herself on it, perching Rose on her lap until she scoots the two up and laughs as Rose rests against her chest to catch her breath, hand moving absently down across her chest to start applying a gentle pressure and Rose's breath catches again before she foregoes words to pull her hands away, push them against the bed with a look that says stay and lifts her hips to remove Kanaya's underwear, smiling at the sight and kissing down her chest and stomach before she skims soft skin that leads underneath and presses a soft kiss to – her magic button, she'd heard it called – and magic it seems, and so it seems that sex makes her cliché but her thoughts steal away again as a gentle pressure opens her legs and Rose's kisses slide down, turn to licks and breaths and kisses again and again, gentle but each one sets a new fire under her skin and she blazes on, till finally she catches Rose's arm and pulls her up again.

They shift and change once more, Rose's turn to lie against the bed as Kanaya kisses her softness, before pulling herself up again as lips drift across the expanse of her skin and one hand rests by Rose's waist as the other slips in a little, crooks, and she watches the play of emotions across Rose's face – surprise, pleasure, desire – and waits until just the right moment and deepens and adds till she is moving and pushing and matching Rose's sighs for sighs her own, echoing her movement and pushing back when wanted, breath quick against Rose's skin and watching as her head falls back, her eyes slide shut and the moan slides softly from Rose's throat as the pressure becomes just enough to satisfy, and her fingers slide out of Rose, hastened by her come. Rose catches her breath and looks up at her, reaching out questioningly, but Kanaya shakes her head and satisfies herself instead, content with Rose's licks and kisses across her neck, down her breast, the slight sucking on her nipple and the feel of Rose beneath and around her.

Finally, with a rush and a moan, she finishes, lets the waves of desire break over her and slips down, crams in beside Rose. The bed is not really big enough for the two of them, and she can feel them both slipping off the edge and knows that she will have to take the spare bed tonight – Rose laughs at that and says that she'd invite her into her own except neither would get any sleep – and then the two simply lie together, breathing. Kanaya traces her fingers across Rose's skin and tangles their legs together, unwilling to let her go now she finally has her, and Rose is happy to hide her face in Kanaya's neck and press the occasional, warm kiss to her neck.

Eventually, Kanaya knows she must sit up, must gather her clothes and get changed and take her makeup off and slip into the spare bed and she knows that Rose must take her own and they must close the window and curtains and somehow fall asleep and yet the world just seems so distant from Rose's arms.

"_Damn these walls,  
In the moment we're ten feet tall,  
And how you told me after it all,  
We'd remember tonight  
For the rest of our lives."_

* * *

1) The world of f/f smut is very different from m/m and I'm still learning, so apologies if this is awful.

2) Soundtrack change! When I saw the video for this song I immediately associated it with how the party would look in my head, and there we go. It was surprisingly easy to write smut to. Sorry, Birdy fans, just ruined this song for you forever.

3) Finale tomorrow.


	6. After it all

Saturday

Kanaya wishes in her heart of hearts that she could escape the cliché thoughts that swim, sluggish, through her brain and yet she finds that they permeate every part of her, as she rolls onto her back and watches light crawl across the ceiling, waking from one of the most restful nights in her recent life. Plagued by neither the intermittent sleep that accompanies stress nor the night visions that haunted her desperate mind, she awakens to find herself refreshed, happy and relieved. Rose, she knows, lies in the bed across from her still deep in her dreaming, and yet she knows that she could waken her with a kiss, hold her hand over the table, be brave and happy around her without carrying shame, guilt or jealousy along on her shoulders.

School is over and the final vestiges of summer remain to be enjoyed to their fullest, she thinks and exults in the thought. The happiness and relief that had been waiting in her chest bursts out in the smile that spreads over her face as she closes the door, and it hangs over her shoulder throughout breakfast, when she bids goodbye to her early-morning friends, it stays by her side when she returns to find Rose awake, and it taps her gently on the shoulder and reminds her that she should emerge from the warmth of Rose's embrace and finish packing. Now that she has her, Rose seems unwilling to let her go ever, and Kanaya is tempted to acquiesce – except that they have the rest of the summer together, and they really do need to pack up.

It takes a while, but eventually the room is empty – a sanity check by each to satisfy and bags are in the hall and the two head down the gravelled path to the lecture theatre for one last time. The sun is shining, appropriately, and the skies above seem an endless sea of azure, stretching from the horizon to infinity. Outside the lecture theatre, they meet friends to say goodbye one last time, and Kanaya finds that they stand close together, not necessarily always physically connected but close enough to feel each other's presence. Kanaya breaks the spell to take Nazia aside and make some very embarrassing confessions, and when her peal of laughter brings all the attention to them, she slinks back to Rose's side, cheeks burning. The wicked look in Rose's eyes implies that she knows the reason for her blushes, and she gets the feeling that she will be hauled over coals later. She does not complain.

They take their seats inside the theatre and listen to the director talk at them for an hour, each and every one dreaming of emerald grass and sapphire skies, and finally they are let out, and hugs and contact details and final goodbyes later, they are gone.

They are on the coach, and they sit as close together as they can, hands curled together and lost in their own world. They are on the train and they sit in silence and watch the world pass by and think and think and finally Kanaya leans over to break the silence.

"I suppose we never made it official. Will you be my girlfriend?"

The smile that breaks across Rose's face makes it all worth it.

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I will," and it is all Kanaya needs. She takes both of Rose's hands in her own and smiles and smiles, until Rose says "So, why did it take you so long?"

And she confesses all her cowardices, all her shame and guilt and jealousy impacting, and how she came so close on Saturday and broke at the last moment, and how much work it took to convince herself on Friday, and she confesses that half of her wanted to kiss her under the fairy lights and let the future come, and the other half wanted to confess under the dark of near-sleep and have it be said without the fear of the repercussions.

Rose understands and says that, for herself, it was much the same – Kanaya's sexuality was hardly a secret, and Rose both doubted that Kanaya would want someone generally known to be straight such as herself and found herself unable to get up the bravery to confess to her, even with liquid courage firing through her veins.

"It is done now," Kanaya says finally, "and no matter how messily, it is done. I love you, and I have for some time and will continue to do so, and you know, and you love me, and we are together.

It is done now."

And, of course, Rose teases her for confiding in and confessing to Nazia, and she gets out the truth of what happened on Saturday and she laughs at the way Kanaya describes the way she spent the conversations she didn't understand.

She is, Kanaya knows, human and imperfect, but it is hard to see that here. She knows that Rose knows the same self-doubt and fear as her, knows that Rose has weaknesses and knows that she spent most of Friday night hovering between fear and desire as Kanaya took charge of the situation, herself not knowing what happens when. She knows that she and Rose will still attract attention, wanted and unwanted, and that the two will go to different universities and form separate friendship groups, and yet somehow she feels that she will still be able to look across the grass and find Rose sitting in the shade, conversations waiting on the tip of her tongue.

Too soon, their stop arrives, and too soon, they are leaving the platform and winding through the station to find lunch. Too soon, they finish their sandwiches and too soon, Kanaya's phone rings, her mother asking her where she is. She says that she was eating with Rose before leaving and promises to be home soon, and true to form, too soon, they separate.

She kisses Rose goodbye in the sunshine and watches as she turns to find her bus, waving at the last minute and laughing inside at her distraction.

The last stretch of her journey passes in a heartbeat, and she emerges blinking into the sunlight to find her family waiting, hugs and car ready, and she sits in the back next to her sisters and tells story after story and all the while she remembers how it felt to have Rose in her arms and on her lips.

Eventually, her phone buzzes and she excuses herself to check it – it is a text from Rose.

It says: "Family holiday has been cancelled. I have four weeks of summer left and I intend to enjoy it. Are you busy tomorrow?"

And the warmth that rises in her chest makes it all worth it.

* * *

And there we have it. Finished, and in good time as well :O

Writing this in such a manner - for me, almost in real time with quick updates so that the story is read is takes place, in a period of two weeks - was both an experiment and a challenge, and while there was success in both parts, it's not something I'll do again. Having to sit down every night and force yourself to write 800-1000 words, no matter how tired or uninspired you are, is not fun, and I know that if I had let myself, you'd be reading this in a few months.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this - the story has been plaguing my mind for a few months now and while I love it, I'm glad it's done. As always, if you have any feedback or questions at all, please let me know.

Thank you for reading.


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